The ways the Internet can stunt a listener’s growth, plus interviews with Hertta Lussu Ässä, Autopsy, and Quiet Evenings.

In its first life, California's Autopsy was a band for less than a decade. But the crew's eight-year run from 1987 to 1995 was infinitely influential, galvanizing the shocking gore core of death metal with at least two classics-- 1989's Severed Survival and 1991's Mental Funeral. There were chainsaws, guts, corpses, necrophilia ("Entering the sacred tomb," reads maybe metal's most memorable double entendre) and dozens of other acts generally left unspeakable. What's more, Autopsy played it with a welcome grit, focusing more on the resolve of their performances than perfect production.

The running line on Autopsy was that they'd never reunite. Chris Reifert reiterated that Abscess was his new permanent venture, and that previous era was done. But Autopsy have indeed relaunched with the same focus on foul language and direct delivery that made their earliest work so important. Autopsy plays death metal with no concessions to post-modern eclecticism at a time when some of the more popular metal acts offer hybrids of a dozen different forms. (This, it should be noted, isn't a complaint or criticism; variety is key, after all.)

We talked to Reifert from his home in California.

Pitchfork: You've said that, when Autopsy regrouped to record Horrific Obsession and then in 2010 to play Maryland Deathfest, the material just seemed to come naturally. Did it feel like this is what you were supposed to be doing?

Chris Reifert: That's exactly it. We were ready to do this. For many years, we didn't want to. You have to want to do this; it's nothing you get rich at, so you damn well better enjoy it. We're at that point where we are definitely enjoying it, and it was never forced or contrived. These songs just popped in our heads.

Pitchfork: Abscess broke up in 2010, just in time for Autopsy to become your primary focus again. For you, what's the primary writing difference between the two?

CR: With Autopsy, it has to be 100% pure death metal. That's the biggest thing. With Abscess, we did death metal, but we also had the freedom to throw straight-up punk rock or psychedelic, harder-rocking parts or doom metal into it. There was a looser vibe to Abscess; our philosophy was that, as long as it's heavy and brutal, anything goes. That was a lot of fun, but with Autopsy, it's got to be total death metal. When writing, we have to adhere to that.

"Mostly we just play songs that we want to hear, the songs and records that didn't exist until we made them. We just start playing."

Pitchfork: After being in Autopsy for nearly a decade, was Abscess' ability to explore sounds besides death metal a relief for you? Did it allow you to escape people's artistic expectations for what you did?

CR: We didn't really set out for it to be different. We went where we thought the band should take us. We don't have a lot of foresight with anything we do. [laughs] We just go with the moment and go by feel, as opposed to having meetings where we say we can now do this or should maybe now do this. It just seemed like the perfect thing for us to do, but it was a nice break from the rigid ways to Autopsy, too. We definitely got to have a little more fun and write music that we can play shitfaced drunk. That break wasn't the main thing. It was just a nice bonus at the time. It really all comes down to feel-- the feel of a certain band, the people that are in the band, the name of the band. You just know what to do.

Pitchfork: Was there ever any talk of revamping or updating Autopsy, or did everyone consider it best to try and reconnect with your legacy?

CR: No, no. We had to write stuff that only came naturally-- which is the best part, because it does; we don't have to sit and try and make it happen. We didn't want to reinvent ourselves and risk blowing it by updating it ourselves. But we didn't want to sound like we're trying to sound like the old days, either. It's all feel with this band. We wanted to write music that would not only hold up to the old stuff but blend in with it as well. Mostly we just play songs that we want to hear, the songs and records that didn't exist until we made them. We just start playing.

Autopsy: "Hand of Darkness":

Autopsy: Hand of Darkness

Pitchfork: I don't know if you've heard the new Morbid Angel record, but it's pretty insufferable. Autopsy began a few years later, of course, but Morbid Angel kept it going much longer, putting out an album every two or three years before taking a longer break ahead of this most recent record. Do you think Autopsy disappearing for so long allowed you to come back to it recharged, whereas Morbid Angel seems to be out of ideas but still trying to tap that brand?

CR: Probably. It wasn't anything that was planned out, but when we broke up Autopsy, it just wasn't fun being in a band with each other. We went on this really horrifying U.S. tour, and it just killed us. We didn't want to do it anymore after that. If we would have kept going for the sake of not knowing what else to do or just being afraid to start over, it would have been horrible. The lack of enthusiasm would've shown in the music. It was much better to walk away with our heads held high than poop out, although we did put out a last album called Shitfun. It probably did help to take that break. Finally, the cork popped out of the bottle, and I had this massive flow of ideas. No disrespect to Morbid Angel from me, but we can only speak to what we do, and we're digging it.

"Anyone who says they don't care if there are five people there or 500 is completely full of shit. It does affect you."

Pitchfork: What was so devastating about that final U.S. tour? Do any moments stand out as those that sort of broke the band's will?

CR: It was way too long and way too poorly organized. We didn't set up the tour. We were dealing with some guy who had no idea what he was doing. The U.S. is a big place, and you can easily drive for days to get from one show to the other. He had us zigzagging all over the place, and we lost days and days. We drove all the way to New York to start the tour. That's a whole week of not making any money just to get to Point A. We get all the way out there, and there's no one there. I don't think there were 100 people there. I got back home, and I was writing with my friend, back when we used to write or call, and he was like, "Man, I had no idea you were there. You were an hour away from my house. I didn't know you were there." There was no promotion.

Any time you get to a show that you've traveled a long distance for and it's showtime and there's nobody there but you have to play anyway... Anyone who says they don't care if there are five people there or 500 is completely full of shit. It does affect you. We had too many shows like that, and we were feeling underappreciated. All those things added up. We were too young to know better-- "Yeah, we're going on tour!" Now we know. It took the fun away, basically. Maybe we're just not cut out to be touring people.

Autopsy: "Always About to Die":

Autopsy: Always About to Die

Pitchfork: Most records obviously aren't selling as well these days, due in part to Internet file-sharing, so most bands have to focus on making a living by touring. Does that prospect worry you for young bands who might have the same attitude you once had-- let's do it, no matter the cost to the band?

CR: Some bands love it, man. I've got friends in bands who seem like they're always on tour, even still. It may be in some people's blood. I'm sure some bands do it just to earn a living or for the experience. We did three tours way back when. We're not teenagers, anymore. Most of us have families and responsibilities. Even if we wanted to tour, which we don't, I don't think we'd be able to, and vice versa. Right now, we're just playing a show here and a show there-- really, really select, cool ones. We were gone for so long, we don't want to be blowing it out, like, "Oh, here we are again and again and again. Aren't you glad we're back again and again and again?"

"That's what metal means to me, feeling that feeling when you hear something that totally turns you on."

Pitchfork: After such a disastrous farewell, and with so many bands from the 80s and 90s reuniting in the past few years, did you have any trepidation going into this reunion? Were you worried people wouldn't care?

CR: We had no expectations, really. All we could do is do it and see how it goes. The first thing we did when we got back together was play Maryland Deathfest. We figured, "Oh, it will go good-- hopefully." We didn't know. It had been a long time. But during soundcheck, we set up and were noodling around with the sound. Hundreds of people were already gathering at the stage. We played 20 seconds of "Ridden with Disease", and people just roared. They just exploded. For me, that was the moment where things were cool, and we knew that's what we wanted. If people just stood there and went, "uhh," that would be awkward.

Pitchfork: You talked about the power of having people in front of you, or playing for 500 fans versus five. So much of heavy metal's purpose, especially on stage, seems to come from being able to rally together large groups of people-- groups of misfits and outcasts, sometimes. Is that how heavy metal made you feel?

CR: I can't recall a time where I wasn't into it. A lot of people like to analyze it and dig deep into it, but I just kind of hear. [laughs] It's been a long time of absolutely feeling the same way about it. I started getting seriously into music when I was a kid. 1978 was my big year. It just hit home. That was before real metal. There was Black Sabbath and that kind of stuff, but the real underground, hard stuff wasn't even around yet. It was cool to watch that happen and latch onto the next edge of things every time that progression happened. It went from Kiss, AC/DC, and Alice Cooper to Iron Maiden and Motörhead. Next thing you know, you have Metallica and Slayer and Venom-- all these things coming out, progressing. I still get excited by it. That's what metal means to me, feeling that feeling when you hear something that totally turns you on. You see it in the new generation, too. We played a show the other night, and there were sons of people I used to be in bands with at our show. You can tell they have the same feeling. You can see it in people's faces, when they're into a metal band. It's cool to see that being passed on.

Pitchfork: What's your favorite memory of that feeling?

CR: My first big show was Iron Maiden, Saxon, and Fastway. That was the 83 Piece of Mind tour for Maiden and Power & the Glory for Saxon. Fastway had just come out. For a 14 year old to see that, it's pretty gnarly and awesome. There were a lot of shows that made me feel that way. A lot of them were the earlier ones because it was such a new thing, but I still go to shows and get that feeling of complete amazement and rapture of what's going on in front of me.

"I like whatever's good. Metal, rock, new or old-- I don't care, as long as it does something to my brain."

Pitchfork: I noticed in a new photo that you're wearing an Absu T-shirt with the logo from their most recent album. They've been around a long time, too, but that self-titled album certainly brought them a lot of new attention. After playing metal for three decades, how much do you still seek out new metal?

CR: I'm always interested in new things. I don't go seeking out every band I can hear because there are too many, especially now with the Internet. There's no way you can collect everything. Incidentally, I love Absu and always have. On that U.S. tour with Autopsy in 1993, we played a show with them, but they just had their demo out. They knocked me out. Abscess got to play with them a couple of years ago. I'm certainly not one of those people who says, "I don't like anything past '92." I like whatever's good. Metal, rock, new or old-- I don't care, as long as it does something to my brain.

Pitchfork: You've been writing about death and blood and murder for more than two decades. On the new record, there's a track with the refrain, "Rape you, kill you." A young rap collective from California name Odd Future has used some of the same ideas in their songs of late and sparked some controversy. What's the defense of that content for you? Why do you think it's valid or appropriate?

CR: I think there's a difference between fantasy and reality, number one, and that's what people need to know. I see it exactly the same as watching a horror film or reading a horror novel-- there's no real difference, except we have to set up certain phrasings to match up to the music. People get so upset about lyrics, and they're probably totally cool with horror movies. That doesn't really make sense. If you read stuff by Brian Keene-- who is one of just the most brutal writers, ever, and one of my favorites right now-- his stuff is merciless. No one or nothing is safe or sacred in there, but it's a book; he's not really out doing this stuff. If it entertains you, cool-- read it, listen to it, watch it. But if it horrifies or disgusts you or scares you, then don't listen to it. You can put the book down or turn the movie off or turn off the CD player. I think it's funny when people get so freaked out, man. "Well, who's making you listen to this? Not me. I didn't buy it for you."

"That's one of the great things about getting in front of a band and headbanging or slamming around or doing whatever you like to do-- you get to let a lot of shit out of your system, whether you have a lot of stuff built up or not."

CR: I would be in prison and never able to make this music to begin with if I lived like that. It's entertainment at the end of the day, simple as that. If you don't like it, then don't listen to it. If you love to listen to it, then fucking turn it up loud, man.

Pitchfork: When did you first realize these horror lyrics were the kind you wanted to write?

CR: Just as long as people have been doing that. Early Black Sabbath is completely horrific stuff. Alice Cooper was talking about necrophilia and had a whole lot of good stuff going on, and that was '73. I've always gravitated toward that kind of stuff. When I was a kid, before there were VCRt, my parents had a movie projector, and we'd watch Frankenstein and Dracula. I just always though that stuff was cool-- creepy comics and monsters and horrific stuff. Music lends itself to that whole theme.

Pitchfork: There's the idea that this sort of entertainment gives us a place to harbor negativity, to express the darkest side of our thoughts, rather than inspire them. Do you think that's true, that it gives us a chance to talk about this stuff without doing it to one another?

CR: You go to death metal shows, and people are fucking having a good time. For the most part, people are just enjoying music. I rarely even see fights at metal shows. If you go to a sporting event, you're going to see a lot more crazy stuff going on, with people brawling. Soccer matches in Europe have riot police. Metal is just people sloshing around drunk and sloppy and having fun, and there's nothing wrong with that. It is a great outlet for aggression. That's one of the great things about getting in front of a band and headbanging or slamming around or doing whatever you like to do-- you get to let a lot of shit out of your system, whether you have a lot of stuff built up or not. I hate to say it, but it's probably good for you.